


Of being courted and befriending bookgirls

by robynvite



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema and Crowley are best friends, Aziraphale flirts, Aziraphale is a bit of a bastard, Because this is Crowley responding to events I described in Part One, Crowley is a mess, Crowley is being courted by Aziraphale, Crowley loses his train of thought a lot, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining Crowley, Smitten Crowley, This is a part two from Crowley's POV - I would recommend reading Part 1 first, basically just watch me project my anxiety on Crowley, crowley is an unreliable narrator, crowley is shy, crowley stammers, lovestruck crowley, shy crowley, soft Crowley, there are long text convo's between Anathema and Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21532873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robynvite/pseuds/robynvite
Summary: This is a Part Two to 'Of burnt books and courting Crowley'. I would recommend reading Part One first, as this is Crowley's POV to the events occuring there.Part One: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472344/chapters/46350814Accidentally, after Armageddon't, Crowley befriends Anathema. One year later, he is invited to her engagement party. After, Aziraphale starts acting strange. Aziraphale starts being up into Crowley's space, and Aziraphale starts... no, he can't be flirting, can he?Luckily, Crowley has Anathema to gently guide him through the onslaught of emotions that come with Aziraphale's new strange behavior.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 193





	1. Likely friendships

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is Part Two to Of burnt books and courting Crowley, at long last. I was really happy and flattered with all the nice comments on that, and there was some interest in Crowley's POV, so here it is! 
> 
> Part One: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472344/chapters/46350814
> 
> In Chapter 1: The start of Anathema's and Crowley's friendship!

A strange moment occurred after Armageddon had been avoided- an anti-climax. Adam’s real dad showed up, and took the kids home. Anathema, Newt, Aziraphale and Crowley had been left, walking hastily to escape the airbase before the soldiers woke up. And then they stood, a tad awkwardly.

‘That long story,’ Anathema said. ‘Of the garden and the wily serpent. I wouldn’t mind hearing it.’

Aziraphale’s face lit up, and Crowley grimaced. Part of the reason that he did not want to hear this story from Aziraphale was that he was pretty sure it would be very different from his own memory of it- full of small reassurances of Aziraphale to himself that what they had been doing, the Arrangement, was purely functional. It would be full of references to Crowley’s tempting and wily nature. At most, it would be a story of a very unlikely friendship, if Aziraphale was feeling brave.

Crowley wasn’t feeling brave, not nearly brave enough to hear how very functional and platonic and sensible their Arrangement was to Aziraphale. Though it was very cute –or well, cute, demons don’t find things cute, it was, uh, well, funny – that when asked the full story, Aziraphale wouldn’t say ‘I am an angel and he’s a demon, we’ve been here since the beginning and got fond of humanity, so we tried to stop the impending apocalypse, only we focused our attentions on entirely the wrong boy.’ For Aziraphale, their story began on the wall of Eden, all those centuries ago. That, at the very least, made Crowley feel warm and giddy.

So, to hold on to that, he would put a stop to hearing the rest of Aziraphale’s perspective.

‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘We’ll be here all week, bookgirl. If you really wanna know, we can talk some time. Later. I want to sleep.’

‘Okay,’ she said, a glint in her eye. ‘How can I find you?’

Crowley snapped his fingers and materialized a small, black business card, and had assumed the situation dealt with. They went their separate ways, and then he was entirely preoccupied with the fact that Aziraphale came to spend the night, and also, defying the punishments of Heaven and Hell.

And then, after their lunch at the Ritz, they were confronted with a completely new life. They did not have to do Heaven and Hell’s bidding anymore, officially. They were free. Neither of them had any idea what to do now, and Crowley felt restless. He felt as if the other- the other... something, still had to drop, and was about to. He felt like he was on borrowed time, or something. It felt weird to just continue as usual. Two things changed, however. Firstly, Aziraphale and him hung out way more often now, and it was _nice_. Or some other word, with more letters. Secondly, Anathema called him, quite quickly after the events had occurred.

‘I’d like you to tell me the full story,’ she’d said. ‘Or the Angel, whoever. But I want to know.’

‘Well, I did say I would,’ Crowley said.

‘You did,’ she agreed.

‘Let’s get coffee?’ he asked.

And they did. Crowley visited Anathema in her cottage, as this sort of talk was best done without eavesdroppers, according to her. Crowley, who was used to trying (and failing, but he didn’t know that) to be inconspicuous in public places with Aziraphale, figured it would not matter much, anymore, whom he was seen with.

They had coffee, and Crowley had attempted to give concise account of their story. The thing was, though, that Crowley wasn’t necessary better than Aziraphale in being concise. He was prone to losing his trail of thought, maybe even more so than his angel. And, maybe, perhaps, there had been the slightest chance that he spoke a little bit too fondly when expressing his annoyance with Aziraphale over the centuries.

‘I thought Newt and I had the coolest love story, what with a witch and a witchfinder, but an angel and demon might just top it,’ she said, casually, and Crowley promptly choked on his coffee from where he was slouched in his seat.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘W- m, uh, we’re, uh, that’s, we, it’s not,’ Crowley spluttered, smoothly. ‘It’s not a love story.’

She squinted her eyes at him, doubt evident. She folded her arms, and leant back a little. Crowley shifted in his seat, and tried to remember he was a centuries year old demon who would not feel judged by a young witch. Especially not about fickle human matters like relationships and love and the like. Nope. Not at all.

‘But?’ she asked.

‘It’s an alliance, more like,’ Crowley said. Perhaps he ought to have let Aziraphale tell the story- at least Aziraphale believed that.

‘Right,’ she said, raising an eyebrow. ‘And also you’re madly in love with one another.’

‘Stop it,’ Crowley said, feeling angry, suddenly. Within one smooth movement he was up from his slouching position and had his hands firmly on the table edges, glaring at Anathema. ‘ _Stop that_. We’re a demon and an angel. Your human ideas of romance don’t fucking apply.’

Anathema did not look very intimidated. ‘Right,’ she repeated.

‘Stop that!’

‘What?’ she asked, reasonably.

He faltered a bit, then got up promptly. ‘We’re done here,’ he grumbled.

‘Crowley,’ she said, sounding like she was tutting.

How dare she. The only one who could tut about his comings and goings was Aziraphale. And actually, no, he couldn’t either. Crowley never admitted that he could. Shut up, brain.

‘ _What_?’ he snapped.

‘If you need someone to vent about being in love with Aziraphale, you can always come back ‘round.’

‘That’s! I’m! Not! I- Ugh!’ Crowley had the last word, as he stormed out. He drove back muttering angrily about stupid witches with their stupid ideas. It was a bit silly, because it wasn’t like he was in denial. He knew very well that he was in love with Aziraphale, and would do everything for him. Only maybe he was a little bit in denial, or at least tried to ignore and hide the very fact. The realization that he was far less smooth in pretending not to be in love with Aziraphale was an unpleasant reminder of how naïve and unreceptive Aziraphale must be about the fact. Moreover, it rather clashed with his self-image of a smooth, mysterious person who definitely would not broadcast his love for a certain angel. Angrily, he made a vow to hide it all away better, and not to talk to humans about these matters ever again.

He was back at Anathema’s after a week.

‘Here’s the thing,’ he said, coming in without any further greetings. ‘Demons aren’t supposed to love, right, that- it’s just not in the nature. It’s uh, we’re supposed to be incapable.’

It was good that he’d brushed past her, so he didn’t see her triumphant grin, or he would’ve been out of the door immediately again.

‘But you do,’ she said, when she had schooled her expression into a more calm and therapeutic one. ‘Love.’

Crowley turned around, all tense for a moment, before slumping down into a chair like all this strings had suddenly been cut. ‘I do,’ he sighed.

Anathema made him a cup of tea.  
  


...  
  
  


It became somewhat of a thing, hanging out with Anathema. It wasn’t always about Aziraphale- they talked about Heaven and Hell, a lot, too. She asked, a lot, after the reason for his Fall. He told her, eventually, about Lucifer’s critical questions that had lodged themselves in his mind, and the curiosity it had led to. He told her about the time he had asked for explanations. He’d just wanted to understand. He told her about the burning sulfur, and the anger and regret. He told her he still didn’t understand God’s motives, did not understand the cruelty of them. Often, when the cruelty gets too much, it drives him mad. The feeling of helplessness in the face of human suffering. 

Anathema hugged him when he got a little bit choked up. It wasn’t the first hug he’d gotten- it occurred, sometimes, when he did something demonic, like save a bunch of children from drowning in the flood, that they hugged him in thanks, misunderstanding his intentions. Misunderstanding that saving them was going against God’s wishes, so a bad deed, overall. Warlock had hugged him, too, when he’d been his nanny. He hadn’t minded, the child had needed the affection, lacking it from his parents. Sometimes, Crowley thought about Warlock and his teenage grumpiness, and hoped that he was still getting affection despite of it. One shouldn’t be shunned completely because of a little rebellion, in his opinion. Still, he had never been hugged like this- like Anathema hugged him because he needed it. It didn’t help with feeling choked up, he got a little bit more emotional, instead, but it was nice.

After that, they discussed religion, and faith, and deep, theological issues. Anathema was smart, and skeptical of organized religion, and witty. All theological conversations Crowley had had so far had been with Aziraphale, who would never express his doubt and be very careful to question. Anathema questioned everything, and it felt therapeutic to share his thoughts with her. It was nice to see he wasn’t alone in doubting, and questioning- he’d known that, he knew atheists existed, but those were different, because they did not believe altogether. It was particularly affirming to actually have a conversation with someone who believed in God’s and Heaven’s existence, but agreed with him about the illogicality of it’s plans, about the cruelty.

They discussed witchcraft, too, Anathema and him, and Anathema’s upbringing as a professional descendent. That’s how Crowley learnt about the burnt sequel of the prophecies, and had a good laugh about it. He felt a bit of unease, too- hopefully, that sequel wasn’t the only thing saving them from the other shoe that might still drop. Right, _shoes_! Shoes dropped.

They also discussed climate change, and the imminent disaster that was still to come with that. The evil of humans, all by themselves. Perhaps the other shoe was that humans destroyed the earth all by themselves, without demonic of angelic intervention. They were well on their way with that. After that particular conversation, Anathema and Crowley got drunk for the first time. Newt found them, very drunk, on the couch in the cottage, watching a nature documentary and crying. He’d sat between them and folded an arm around the both of them, and soothed them until they both fell asleep.

Not one of Crowley’s proudest moments.

They had fun, too, together. They did some witchy rituals, which became very potent with Crowley’s demonic help. Crowley helped out in her garden, and they went vintage shopping together. Anathema asked him if he had invented the Primark, and after his vehement denial and disgust at the underpaid exploitative labor in developing countries the shop ran upon, Anathema encouraged him to perform a little demonic miracle which ensured that passerby’s found themselves unable to ignore the few protesters outside of the shop, as if their apathy had melted away and the protesting voices echoed in their heads. Crowley tried to justify how that could’ve counted as doing something ‘demonic’, and decided that people interrupting your shopping with flyers annoyed everyone, and there would be a lot more of those now. Anathema mentioned he didn’t necessary need to do demonic things anymore, but Crowley reminded her that it was in his nature, clearly.

Either way, when Crowley was not hanging out with Aziraphale, he hung out with Anathema. He kept this a secret from Aziraphale, but he wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps because he told Anathema so much about his unrequited love, and he was afraid to lose that outlet, were Aziraphale to get involved. Also because he could see Anathema taking that chance to play matchmaker, and the results of that would be disastrous. She was quite persistent that he would confess his feelings to Aziraphale.

When Anathema told him, excitedly, that she’d decided to propose to Newt, Crowley felt astonished.

‘Already?’

‘I mean, yes,’ she said. ‘It’s a little soon, but I love him, and I want our families to understand that we’re going to stay with each other, and I think he would be very cute about me calling him my husband. And it’d probably wouldn’t hurt, what with Brexit, to be married to a Brit.’

All very sound reasons.

‘What’d you mean, he’d be cute about it?’ he asked.

‘Well, how would you feel if Aziraphale would say ‘This my husband, Crowley’?’ she asked, trying to do an impression of the Angel.

It wasn’t a good impression, but Crowley heard it in his voice anyways. He willed his cheeks not to blush, and failed utterly. ‘That’s, uh, he- I mean,’ he stammered.

‘Exactly,’ Anathema smiled happily. ‘Cute like that.’

Crowley flailed in indignation and pointed an outraged finger at her. ‘I- wh- _Cute_! I am not cute! You take that back, cute is a four letter word, I -’

She giggled and held up her hands, apologetic. ‘No, you’re a very mean, evil, intimidating devil.’

He crossed his arms, petulant. Yes, he was.

Either way, Anathema did propose to Newt. He was predictably adorable about it, and awkward, but accepted in wonder. And then asked if he could be the one to wear the suit, to the wedding, though, please. Anathema gave a little class in gender theory and feminism. And then Anathema was engaged, and decided to throw a party to celebrate it.

And that’s how Aziraphale got involved, after all.


	2. Drinking and sulking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale attend Anathema's engagement party, and afterwards Crowley does the sensible thing about being ghosted by your crush: heavy drinking.
> 
> Anathema:You told him about us burning Agnes’ sequel  
> Crowley:yeah  
> Crowley: Thought it’d be fun, but he took it a bit harder than I thought  
> Anathema: You did say he’d kill me if he found out  
> Crowley: Yeah, but he wouldn’t actually, he’s the nice one  
> Anathema: Actually, after today I’m starting to think you’re the nice one  
> Crowley: I’M NOT NICE  
> Crowley: Anyways, he’s gone all sulky  
> Crowley: Kinda worried I pissed him off  
> Anathema: He’s probably more upset with us  
> Crowley: Oh definitely  
> Anathema: He’s kinda scary!  
> Crowley: hahaha  
> Anathema: Really! I felt literal chills from his chilliness  
> Crowley: hahahahah  
> Crowley: yeah  
> Anathema: But he didn’t do that to you?  
> Crowley: No, he just didn’t want to do drinks after  
> Anathema: Are you now drinking and sulking on your own?  
> Crowley: ... no  
> Anathema: Aw, poor dear  
> Anathema: he’ll be back soon  
> Anathema: Anyways, it’s karma for turning his wrath upon Newt and me on our ENGAGEMENT PARTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a companion to the first and second chapter of 'Of burnt books and courting Crowley'!

Aziraphale approached the Bentley with a spring in his step, and a beaming smile, on the evening they were to attend the engagement party. Crowley felt himself sigh softly, like some kind of lovestruck fool. How silly was it, that he still responded like this whenever he saw Aziraphale. Back when Aziraphale and Crowley saw each other with far less regularity, Crowley would feel a thrill of excitement each time they saw one another. During the entirety of the exchange, he would feel that thrill. _Look at me, talk to me, smile at me_. And each time his silent demands were met, he felt giddy and disoriented. He worked hard on his suave and untouched persona, of course. But underneath he felt vulnerable, and out of control. Aziraphale only had to hint towards something he needed, and Crowley would find himself agreeing before he could even think it over. But he also fought for his silent demands to be met- popping in whenever Aziraphale found himself in a world of trouble. He rather liked playing the savior. He liked going out of his way to impress Aziraphale, and to be rewarded with a smile, or a soft look. And lunch, of course.

It was all very demonic, he was sure. Tempting an angel to worldly pleasures - that is to say, food- it couldn’t get much more demonic, right? And besides, it was completely selfish of him, right? He had a desire to be with Aziraphale, and he pursued that desire. That was- bad, probably, and demonic, so, great.

Anyways. Back on his train of thought, which was... Right, he’d expected that when they started seeing each other regularly, as nanny and gardener to Warlock, the thrill and excitement, the giddiness and vulnerability, would fade away. It did not, even though it was a little tampered by Aziraphale’s disguise (and treatment of the garden- honestly, Aziraphale had been nice to everything in the garden, also to the pests – blessed snails – that destroyed the plants, he was the worst gardener ever) at the time.

Train of thought? Right, right- The point was, now, after Armageddon’t, they saw each other a lot. And Crowley still felt like a, a, like a something adrift in the wind, helpless as to what direction they were taking but happy enough to drift along.

Either way. Aziraphale opened the car door.

‘Hello, my dear!’

Crowley willed himself not to melt into the chair. The nickname was not new, but it hadn’t lost its effect yet. Probably never would. The first time it happened, it had been in a letter. ‘My dear Crowley,’ it had read, ‘I am to be in the New World to perform some miracles. I was wondering whether you would need anything? Yours, Aziraphale.’

My dear Crowley. Yours, Aziraphale. He was pretty certain he’d discorporated on the spot. He’d carried that letter around him everywhere for a very long time.

Yours, Aziraphale. If only.

The first time Aziraphale had called him ‘my dear’ after that, it had been in person, and Crowley had stammered for almost a full minute at him, feeling as if he’d been dropped from a very high building, or, from Heaven, or something. An unpleasant jolt of the stomach, in any case. Except pleasant. So very pleasant.

He was smoother now. ‘Hi, angel,’ he responded, as if not plagued by all these thoughts that came with their simple exchange. He drove off before Aziraphale had his seatbelt fully secure, just to mess with him and hear him squeak. Not enough to seriously risk any discorporation, of course. When they got stuck in traffic on the highway, Aziraphale calmed down enough to start discussing the engagement, excitedly.

‘A kite!’ Crowley realized, accidentally out loud.

‘What?’ Aziraphale asked.

‘They get adrift in the wind,’ Crowley said, a bit sheepish.

‘Right, dear. And water slides off ducks.’  
  
  
...  
  


The party was a bit disastrous- not for Anathema and Newt, but for Aziraphale, definitely. Crowley casually dropped the news about the burnt prophecies, and Aziraphale just- fucking- squeezed through a glass. Crowley felt pretty guilty, which was a very bad thing for a demon to feel, and he wasn’t pleased with it. The sight of Aziraphale’s bleeding hand still made his heart clench. He had known Aziraphale would be displeased about the burnt book, but he hadn’t expected him to be so ruffled by it.

So ruffled, in fact, that in the car back, Aziraphale was not paying attention to Crowley at all, and was barely speaking. Maybe he was angry. It was not technically Crowley’s fault the book had been burnt, but he had used it to tease Aziraphale. He’d apologized, though. And Aziraphale wasn’t doing the terrifying calm coolness he’d turned on Newt and Anathema, so that was something. But there was a weirdness and a distance, and it made Crowley feel ill at ease.

The car felt particularly empty after Aziraphale had left it, and he stared after the angel. No drinks this time. It probably shouldn’t bother him this much, only it reminded him starkly of another time of being left in his car with Aziraphale leaving him behind. _You go too fast for me, Crowley_. He drove home and decided to make himself comfortable on his bed with a bottle of wine, taking out his phone.

**Crowley:** Good party?

**Anathema:** It was fun! How’d you like it?

**Crowley:** yeah

**Crowley:** The whole Aziraphale thing was on me

**Anathema:** You told him about us burning Agnes’ sequel

**Crowley:** yeah

**Crowley:** Thought it’d be fun, but he took it a bit harder than I thought

**Anathema:** You did say he’d kill me if he found out...

**Crowley:** Yeah, but he wouldn’t actually, he’s the nice one

**Anathema:** Actually, after today, I’m starting to think you’re the nice one

**Crowley:** I’M NOT NICE

**Crowley:** Anyways, he’s gone all sulky

**Crowley:** Kinda worried I pissed him off

**Anathema:** He’s probably more upset with us

**Crowley:** Oh definitely

**Anathema:** He’s kinda scary !

**Crowley:** hahaha

**Anathema:** Really! I felt literal chills from his chilliness 

**Crowley:** hahahahah

**Crowley:** yeah

**Anathema:** But he didn’t do that to you?

**Crowley:** No, he just didn’t want to do drinks after

**Anathema:** Are you now drinking and sulking on your own?

**Crowley:** ... no

**Anathema:** Aw, poor dear

**Anathema:** he’ll be back soon

**Anathema:** Anyways, it’s karma for turning his wrath upon Newt and me on our ENGAGEMENT PARTY

**Anathema:** nobody wants to have angels against them on their engagement party, Crowley

**Anathema:** Newt is fretting

**Crowley:** Newt is always fretting

**Crowley:** also fuck you

**Anathema:** well, we were just about to bring our engagement party to a fitting ending, so, yeah!

**Crowley:** ugh

**Anathema:** ttyl xx

He threw his phone aside and stared at the ceiling. The thing was, with Crowley- his thoughts tended to get all messy when left alone. Especially in moments like this, when something was not quite right between him and Aziraphale. He tended to take something small, and tug at it until it had expanded and been stretched thin, all compassing around him and tangling all his other thoughts up in it. And then other thoughts got stuck, too, and he began pulling at those as well. He was good at spiraling. It was embarrassing how small something could be to get him there, but it happened, either way.

He could start with a certain moment that Aziraphale had frowned disapproving at something he’d said, and stretch it out until he was unravelling centuries worth of interactions and reading hatred, indifference, disapproval into all of them. This time, he worried through the evening they’d had. Obviously, startling Aziraphale into breaking glass and making his hand bleed was very bad. But after that, he’d softly held Aziraphale’s hand, and treated him. He’d been... gentle. He shouldn’t have, probably, but the blood had made him freak out a little. Anathema had said ‘If you’d seen how he looked when you held his hand, just now!’

Perhaps Aziraphale had suddenly found out about Crowley’s feelings because of that touch. Perhaps he knew, now, and was weirded out? He groaned softly and let his head thud against the headboard of his bed for a moment.

He liked texting with Anathema at these moments of intense self-doubt, because she was very no nonsense, and did not go along in it at all. But he’d never told her he got like this. Melancholic, and then self-destructive.

Speaking- or well, thinking- of that- He decided to just stay here and keep drinking until Aziraphale had forgiven him, again. So he lied there, on the bed, drinking and sometimes maybe crying, a little. He watched some cartoons on his television, with unseeing eyes. Then he watched some romantic movies which ended badly, and felt in turns either vindictive at their unhappiness, or empathic to it.

It took a week for Aziraphale to forgive him. Crowley was still thoroughly drunk when the phone rang, and he stumbled from the bed and into the sitting room to answer the phone call, sloppily.  
  
‘Oh, dear, are you alright?’ was the first thing Aziraphale asked. Crowley debated sobering up, but chose not to. He liked the fuzziness of his brain right now.

‘Yeah, yeah, uh, yeah,’ he said. ‘Drunk.’

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale said, and then nothing.

Well, that wasn’t nerve wrecking. ‘Whazzup?’ he asked.

Aziraphale began talking about the burnt book. Of course. That blessed book- Crowley should’ve never told him. Despite being drunk to the point of stupidity, he found he wrestled himself through the call pretty alright. He only implied the extent of his patheticness once. Of course, once was enough for Aziraphale to make his way over. Crowley didn’t mind- he’d missed him, after all.

And then Aziraphale was there, in his living room, miracling him a soft, big sofa, which was very Aziraphale and looked terribly out of place. It reminded Crowley miserably of how people must see the two of them- an ill fit. 

He sat, though. And then Aziraphale- Aziraphale was hugging him.

Aziraphale was hugging him.

Now, when he said- or thought-, earlier, that he’d been hugged before, that was not a lie. He was familiar with hugs. He’d hugged, is all he meant to say. He had. But this was nothing like it. This was Aziraphale. Who was hugging him. Crowley’s brain got maybe a little stuck on that fact, like a... Like something that gets stuck.

It was nice, though. Aziraphale was warm, and very soft. There was hair stroking. Stupidly, Crowley thought that by stroking softly through his hair, Aziraphale was also, unwittingly, slowly disentangling the mess of thoughts that he had made, clearing the gloomy thoughts and leaving behind only a deep contentedness. Without meaning to, he pressed closer to the Angel. He did not nuzzle, though. Demons do not nuzzle. And he also didn’t exhale roughly when Aziraphale softly scratched at the skin behind his ear, which he definitely didn’t feel throughout his whole body. Meanwhile, he was having some sort of conversation with Aziraphale, but he wasn’t really processing it. He was completely and wholly preoccupied by the cuddling. Aziraphale kept stroking his hair, and Crowley felt peaceful, and warm. He never wanted this to change. He felt thoroughly content when he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, he came to slowly, first noting the warmth around him, the softness he was pillowed on. He nuzzled a little, sleepily. It was a strange sort of fabric beneath his cheek, a little thick, like... like an old fashioned waistcoat. He tensed up, holding a breath that he did not need to take in the first place. He opened his eyes and his worst suspicions were confirmed. He was cuddled close to Aziraphale’s chest. He had Nuzzled. When he remembered that in the flight, fight or freeze instinct, freeze was not his best option right now and taking flight would be way, way better, he shot upright. His brilliant flight plans went out of the window immediately as an immense headache shot through his head, and he felt nauseous. Fuck, he’d fell asleep drunk, without sobering up beforehand. He let out a very not-pathetic groan.

‘Oh, dear,’ Aziraphale said. Crowley had his head in his hands, so did not notice when the Angel reached out until he softly brushed his fingers over Crowley’s temple. If Crowley had still been focused on his hangover he’d noticed the headache and nausea instantly disappeared, but he was a bit preoccupied. He still felt the soft pressure of Aziraphale’s fingers to his temple, just above his snake mark, even if Aziraphale had retracted his hand already, and it was hard to notice anything else.

It was probably still a hangover thing, that he felt hot and feverish all over. Surely, one touch would not do that to him. Nope. Hangover. Clearly, it wasn’t all cured.

Aziraphale looked a bit uncomfortable from his staring, an adorable flush covering his cheeks. Crowley felt weak. Then Aziraphale said, probably feeling the need to explain, ‘Well, after you healed my hand, it was only fair.’

Crowley abruptly returned to reality, like accidentally stumbling into a cold swimming pool (which he’d never done). It’s not like that was the same, he thought bitterly. He had caused Aziraphale’s hurt in the first place, when he healed them. Aziraphale had nothing to do with his misery, besides being the sole cause of it, of course.

‘Besides,’ Aziraphale said. ‘I can’t stand to see you suffer.’

Hnnggn. Fuck. What was happening. Crowley became suddenly very aware of the lack of glasses shielding his eyes, and he felt strangely exposed. And he was wearing them when Aziraphale had arrived, he remembered hastily shoving them on, so that meant Aziraphale had taken them off. One more act of kindness, and he might die.

‘You got my glasses?’

Aziraphale procured them from where they had been hooked into his pocket, adorably. ‘Do you need them, in here?’ the angel asked. Crowley shrugged, feeling way more like himself and safer when he put them on.

It was very good he’d put them on, because then Aziraphale said ‘I quite like seeing your eyes, you know? Don’t put them on for my sake’, and yup. Crowley was deceased. Why’d he say that? Was it true? Who in the world would like his eyes?

‘You’re being weird,’ he managed, hoping he sounded normal and unaffected. ‘Why’re you being weird?’ 

‘I am not! I am just telling the truth!’

Just dudes being pals. I like your eyes, bro. Nothing strange. Crowley hesitated. It had been a compliment, it had been Aziraphale reaching out, right? And throughout the centuries, Crowley had become very into just taking what he could get, and then trying to get more.

He took off the glasses. He’d take what he could get.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Aziraphale beam, with a contended wiggle. It felt like an instant reward- he did live, mostly, for Aziraphale’s little wiggles.

They made a little conversation about Crowley’s home décor- he was aware of Aziraphale’s disapproval. He liked it, himself- he liked having space, no clutter, and the darkness fit with his overall aesthetic. He was very much about aesthetics.

‘Now, dear,’ Aziraphale said, in a calm and patient Confrontational Tone, after he’d provided them with tea and sandwiches. ‘Would you please tell me why you were so upset yesterday?’

Oh well, Crowley thought, you acted slightly different than usual to me and I got in a weeklong funk about it. Nothing strange, really. It’s just that I’ve been madly in love with you ever since you told me you gave away your stupid flaming sword, and I have never in 6,000 years learned how to cope with it. No worries, though, totally cool that you don’t feel like that because angels and demons aren’t supposed to feel like that. It’s no biggie. It’s tickety boo.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said instead. Anathema was a fool if she thought he’d ever say anything like that ever out loud.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, and Crowley felt his anxiety soaring. It’s nothing, that’s the worst excuse ever. That was definitely suspicious, right? Aziraphale would see right through that. Fuck, he ought’ve just-

‘You should eat something, dear,’ Aziraphale said. And then he leant in and brought a sandwich to Crowley’s lips, like he was about to feed him.

Crowley stared at him, baffled. Honestly, he couldn’t even form a comprehensible thought to deal with this situation. Slowly, feeling quite certain this was some sort of dream, he raised his hand to take the sandwich. What did Aziraphale expect him to do? Eat it from his hand? Like he was a show pony?

‘You’re being so weird,’ he said, feeling completely justified in doing so. Aziraphale blushed and nodded a bit, shifting and looking bashful, as if agreeing. Hngg. Crowley had no idea what the entire interaction meant, but fuck Aziraphale for being so fucking cute about it.


	3. Something fishy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short intermezzo of Crowley and Anathema texting. Can’t a demon ever just list kinds of fish without it being about an angel?

**Anathema:** Hey, what’s up!

**Crowley:** something fishy

**Crowley:** or something

**Crowley:** can something fishy be ‘up’?

**Crowley:** usually fishy things are more down

**Crowley:** as in, in the sea

**Anathema:** yup

**Anathema:** why are you being nervous?

**Crowley:** I’m not nervous

**Crowley:** I’m normal

**Anathema:** sure,

**Anathema:** so, what’s fishy?

**Crowley:** tuna

**Crowley:** herring

**Crowley:** sea bass

**Anathema:** I implore you to cease this

**Crowley:** Ha

**Anathema:** Lemme guess

**Anathema:** It’s about Aziraphale

**Crowley:** Can’t a demon ever just list kinds of fish without it being about an angel?

**Anathema:** If you don’t wanna talk about it, I’m just gonna go

**Crowley:** Wait!

**Anathema:** Ha

**Crowley:** he’s jsust being so weird

**Anathema:** jsust?

**Crowley:** shut up

**Crowley:** he came by when I was drunk and he hugged me

**Anathema:** Were you drinking alone and being sad?

**Crowley:** No,,,

**Crowley:** My plants were drinking too

**Anathema:** Right, that’s not more pathetic

**Crowley:** shut up!

**Crowley:** you’re going to hell and its not nice there

**Anathema:** nah, I’m gonna do a ritual to suck up your life energy and live forever

**Crowley:** Who waaants to liiiivee foreeeever?

**Anathema:** Who daaaares to love forever?

**Anathema:** Crowley does!

**Crowley:** Oof

**Anathema:** lmao

**Anathema** : So he hugged you

**Crowley:** yeah

**Crowley:** and I was drunk so I fell asleep

**Anathema:** sure you didn’t swoon?

**Crowley:** shut up

**Crowley:** and when I woke up, he healed my handover and told me he liked my eyes

**Crowley:** asbhfbsjhf

**Crowley:** WhAT does that MEAN?

**Anathema:** Hmm

**Anathema:** I think

**Anathema:** It means he likes your eyes

**Crowley:** no he doesn’t

**Anathema:** Why wouldn’t he?

**Crowley:** Because they’re demonic!

**Crowley:** And he’s an angel! He shouldn’t like them

**Anathema:** he doesn’t care that you’re a demon, Crowley

**Anathema:** he likes you, demonic traits and all

**Crowley:** no he doesn’t

**Anathema:** Jesus Christ

**Crowley:** He did

**Anathema:** ?

**Crowley:** Like me

**Anathema:** ???

**Crowley:** I showed him all the kingdoms of the world

**Anathema:** Anthony Janthony Crowley,

**Crowley:** THE J IS NOT FOR JANTHONY

**Anathema:** Did you use to date Jesus Christ?

**Crowley:** No, not date

**Crowley:** we just hung out

**Crowley** **:** he didn’t mind me, ‘s probably a better way to say it

**Anathema:** Nooo, you said he liked you, no take backs

**Crowley:** Either way

**Crowley:** After that it really got weird

**Crowley:** He tried to get me eat a sandwich

**Crowley:** By bringing it to my mouth

**Crowley:** ??????

**Anathema:** omg he tried to feed you

**Crowley:** It was the weirdest thing ever

**Anathema:** What did you do?

**Crowley:** took the sandwich with my hand

**Anathema:** spoilsport

**Crowley:** what was I gonna do, eat from his hand???

**Anathema:** lmao yeah

**Anathema:** I wonder where he gets his flirting techniques from

**Crowley:** it wasn’t like that

**Crowley:** it wasn’t flirting

**Anathema:** ...

**Crowley:** I swear it wasn’t

**Anathema:** ...

**Crowley:** oh, shut it.


	4. Fishier and fishier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes the flirting to the next level. It is a very confusing time for Crowley. Also, he considers gender, and the performance of demonic-ness.

Things only got fishier and fishier.

It began with a cactus. Fairly soon after the cuddling business, out of nowhere, Aziraphale gifted Crowley with a cactus.

‘It’s a cactus,’ he’d said, with a proud little wiggle directed at the cactus in his hands.

‘Yup,’ Crowley’d confirmed, flabbergasted, and Aziraphale had proclaimed it would fit in Crowley’s collection, and had immediately requested that Crowley would be a little kinder to the cactus than he was to his other plants.

As if Crowley could ever yell at a plant gifted by Aziraphale. As if that plant would not be amongst his most priced possessions from now on.

This cactus wouldn’t be subjected to his aggressive enforced perfectionism, it would just be cared for, and allowed to just _be,_ and it’d still be perfect.

Still, he couldn’t possibly say that, so he said ‘if it behaves,’ with a performative little glare to the cactus that he’d later apologize for.

Crowley took the cactus from Aziraphale with a stammered ‘thanks’. And then, because he could never stop himself asking _why?,_ he’d asked ‘to what do I owe-?’

‘I just saw it and thought of you,’ Aziraphale said.

Crowley felt promptly very lightheaded. He saw it and thought of- See, of course, he was familiar with that hypothetical situation. He himself thought of Aziraphale all the time- when seeing any bowtie anywhere, for example. When seeing any sort of food that Aziraphale would like.

It wasn’t even that he’d never done anything with that- often, he’d brought Aziraphale to the restaurant he spotted, or something like that.

But he thought that was a one way street. He could barely imagine Aziraphale walking through town, seeing a cactus in a shop somewhere, and thinking ‘Oh, Crowley would like this.’

It was like, that feeling you get when you get a sudden reminder that you exist to other people, who think of you sometimes when they go about their own day, and you exist not only in your own narrative of life but also in theirs.

Aziraphale had thought of _him,_ and then bought him this, as a gift.

He felt a bit speechless, and out of his depth on how to respond.

‘Can I come in?’ Aziraphale asked. He had his smug face on, as if speechlessness was what he’d been going for.

Wait, had he been?

Crowley led him in, and went to put the cactus in his throne room. The evening went on rather normally after that, with some banter and some drinking, and some quiet pining from Crowley. But the cactus was always in his mind, sitting proudly on the table.

Somewhere throughout the night, Crowley realized that the little prickly thingies on the cactus were red, like his hair.

Had Aziraphale been teasing him with this? _I just saw it and thought of you_.

Because of his hair?! Bastard angel.

When Aziraphale had gone home, Crowley slithered off to his bed, feeling a little bit too excited and high strung to sleep just yet. He sat on his bed, and let himself slowly calm down. It wasn’t so unusual for him- not even just around Aziraphale, he was one of those people - that is, if he would be ‘one of those people’, which of course he was not, he was a demon from hell - who rode high on social moments and when they were over crashed down hard.

When he’d calmed, he felt off. The entire night, he’d been keeping his eye on the little cactus, and now he couldn’t see it. So he got up again, and went to get it.

He carefully put it on the nightstand, and sat next to it.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Uh. I’ve never been nice to a plant before.’

He frowned a little.

‘But um. I’m Crowley. And you’re uh- kinda- uh, special, to me. So. ‘M gonna, gonna try and be nice. Cause he asked me to.’

. . .

Not too long after, Aziraphale called him to ask him if he would care to accompany him to the theatre.

They’d been to the theatre before, as an inconspicuous meeting place, and had found it not that inconspicuous.

They hadn’t been when not pretending to be inconspicuous. That was different, apparently. Apparently, that meant Aziraphale pressing their arms together.

Crowley froze completely when he felt Aziraphale’s arm against his.

Did he notice he’d done that? Was it an accident?

He stared straight ahead. Maybe if he did not move anymore at all, Aziraphale wouldn’t notice he’d made this slip up, and the touch would stay.

And it did. Somehow, that actually worked. They sat together for the entire play, and Crowley felt very warm and content there.

He didn’t pay much attention to the play itself, so when it unfortunately came to an end and Aziraphale asked him how he’d liked it, he scrambled for something to say.

‘I still like the funny ones better,’ he croaked, and then cursed himself. Why couldn’t his voice just be normal?

Aziraphale smiled at him, though, so it was fine.

. . .

Naively, Crowley thought things might go back to normal after that. They didn’t. Aziraphale kept the small innocent touches up. Maybe, Crowley figured, it was just because they had left Hell and Heaven behind, and Aziraphale was actually a tactile friend, something which he might have suppressed out of feelings of duty earlier.

That made sense, probably. Maybe Aziraphale was just like this, now that he was free.

Crowley didn’t mind it. He was maybe tactile, too, he was beginning to find. He longed for the small touches and felt giddy after they happened. The only bad thing about them was that his mind tended to go completely blank, when these moments were actually moments where he’d love to have a witty, nonchalant, unaffected comment at the ready.

Worst was that Aziraphale definitely noticed and enjoyed it. He was very smug sometimes. Crowley worried, at times, that Aziraphale was doing it only because of that, just to fluster. But that would be cruel, and Aziraphale wasn’t cruel.

Still, the thought popped up sometimes.

Crowley was doing a lot of thinking, when Aziraphale wasn’t with him, about all this. He kind of felt like he was forcing his mind in circles, anything to find platonic explanations for everything happening. Out of self-preservation. Sometimes, he’d twist it so far that he’d feel guilty about the whole thing. Aziraphale was just platonically all up in his space, and for Crowley it wasn’t platonic. Wasn’t that taking advantage? He was pretty sure it was.

But it wasn’t like Aziraphale was making things easy.

‘I’d like to learn to waltz,’ he announced one evening. They were next to each other on the couch- since when? It was like Aziraphale had chosen to sit next to Crowley instead of behind him on the bus home after Armageddon’t, and after that had decided to keep it up forever. They were always next to each other, now. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s warmth against his side, when Aziraphale leant in to show him something. And their legs were pressed together. It wasn’t a small couch. It wasn’t that there wasn’t room.

Crowley hadn’t had a very coherent thought all evening because of this development. So: ‘Huh?’ he said, eloquently.

He’d tried to change the Angel’s mind, but the mind was set. Learning the waltz it was. Crowley felt very dismayed- he hadn’t been happy with the whole gavotte situation, when he’d learned of it later. But waltz was even more intimate. Some random idiot would be getting Aziraphale’s warmth and touches, then. See? Aziraphale was just very tactile.

He had to remind the Angel that waltzing was a very gendered affair. He’d never liked ballroom dancing much for that reason- all stuff about the man leading, the woman following… all rituals around it drenched in rigid gender roles… he liked the concept of gender, especially the queer concept of it being variable and constructed and fluid. He didn’t like folks who treated it as a rigid, dichotomous binary, and who treated deviation from it as blasphemous. He didn’t like binaries altogether, actually. He never had – the binary distinction between hell and heaven didn’t work, either. Otherwise Aziraphale and him wouldn’t be where they were now, would they? It was a bit harder to shake than the gendered concepts of the humans, however. He still found himself always trying to fit within the category demon, even if he didn’t. There wasn’t a reason for it anymore, but it had become a reflex. Maybe he should meet Judith Butler sometimes, see what she thought about the performance of demonic nature.

‘Still, I think the world of ballroom dancing will have gotten with the times, no? Surely, they wouldn’t object to me having a male partner,’ Aziraphale said.

Crowley doubted it. Probably need to go to a queer ballroom place for that. The question ‘You’ve got a preference, then?’ left his lips before he could stop it.

Arg, why ask that? It wasn’t as if it mattered, it still wouldn’t be him.

‘Hm? Oh, I suppose it doesn’t quite matter,’ Aziraphale said.

See? Point made. Don’t dwell on that, Crowley.

He dwelled a little bit, but only until Aziraphale smiled at him, then he was busy scorning himself for staring.

‘Can you waltz?’ Aziraphale asked.

God, no. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nah. Imagine that, a demon, waltzing.’

‘Hm,’ Aziraphale smiled, as if he was. No, he wasn’t, stop that, brain.   
  
‘Shame,’ Aziraphale continued. ‘You could have taught me. And it’d have saved me a lot of trouble with having to find a partner.’

Crowley looked back up again, gaping a little. Now he kind of wished he could.

‘Perhaps I have a book on the subject!’ Aziraphale went on, pushing himself up on Crowley’s leg. Crowley had to swallow for a moment, mouth feeling a little dry. He was just a little caught of guard by the sudden pressure, and, um. And Aziraphale’s trailing his fingers on his knee a little longer than necessary after hoisting himself up.

It took embarrassingly long to hear what Aziraphale had just said. ‘You- you don’t find that sort of stuff in books, angel.’

‘You can find anything in books, my dear.’

‘No, no, listen, look,’ Crowley said, furiously getting out his phone. It wouldn’t kill Aziraphale to get with the times sometime.

Only when the instruction began, he’d realized his mistake. ‘We’re all gonna do it together,’ the man said, and Crowley thought, ‘oh no.’

‘Okay!’ Aziraphale enthused. ‘Come on, then!’

‘No, no,’ Crowley said. ‘Not me, I -, you do it, I, uh…’

Aziraphale took his hand. Crowley’s protests died on his tongue. Aziraphale softly tugged, and Crowley’s body obeyed, as his brain had gone on a little vacation once more.

‘Okay, guys, you’re gonna follow me, and ladies, you’re gonna follow Kim,’ the man on the screen announced.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said again. ‘Do you have a preference?’

Crowley was currently going for something androgynous with his gender expression, so he didn’t, really. Besides, he was too nervous about this endeavor to give it much thought. He left it up to Aziraphale, who elected to follow ‘the gent’. It was probably more of a ‘leading’ thing than a gender thing, Crowley thought. Aziraphale wasn’t a follower, never had been, even if he’d believed himself to be. Aziraphale was his own.

They did the steps, which were very simple. Crowley felt a bit a fool for doing them, but at least it was each for himself, not holding each other yet.

The Universe heard that, so the guy on the screen ordered them to grab each other. Aziraphale lifted his arms, looking very hopeful that Crowley would step into them.

Crowley had always been very weak against that particular expression.

He stepped into Aziraphale’s hold, and stared at his feet while they did the steps.

‘Don’t look at your feet,’ the man said.

Curse Crowley and his stupid ideas. Why didn’t he just let Aziraphale find a book? Stupid principles, that was why.

Crowley glanced up, and Aziraphale smiled at him. Tugged him closer. Oh g- sa- someone. What in the world was this. Crowley tried to look somewhere else, but Aziraphale said, ‘this is nice,’ softly.

Crowley looked at him again. It was starting to feel like Aziraphale wasn’t doing this platonically.

And then Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s lips, and his entire brain short circuited.

  1. Error. Crowley.exe has stopped responding.



Crowley attempted any sort of coherent thought, but it rather felt like his brain had said ‘good luck with that one, mate’, and had then fucked the fuck off.

Aziraphale was going to kiss him. Crowley could feel his hands, embarrassingly, going very sweaty in Aziraphale's, and felt his heart pounding in his ears. Very human, and unnecessary, but he was a bit too preoccupied to turn it off. His mouth was dry too, and he couldn’t help but swallow.

Aziraphale glanced up at him again, and then back to his lips.

Crowley felt frozen, completely locked in the moment. Which was not a good idea, when you were still slowly waltzing. His feet faltered, and he stumbled, planting his feet on top of Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale laughed softly and caught him. ‘Careful,’ he said softly.

It would have been a nice moment for the agents of Hell to come and fetch him and drench him in holy water, actually. It would’ve been welcomed.

‘Sorry,’ Crowley mumbled.

‘No harm done,’ Aziraphale said, and started doing the steps again. Crowley couldn’t help but follow. It felt a bit like he’d made the earlier moment up entirely.

But then Aziraphale said, very softly, and fondly, ‘Imagine that. A demon, waltzing.’

Crowley felt positively useless. What the fuck was happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm non-binary, by the way, so projecting my own feelings about gender a bit. I also like to do ballroom dancing, and the gendering of it is so annoying. (it's a fun way for straight people to ask my girlfriend and me 'so, who's the man?')


	5. It'll all look better in the morning, dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter! Crowley is a little overwhelmed. My mom always says when I'm very anxious in the evening that things will look better in the morning. For Crowley, they do.

**Crowley** **:** 6,000 years, and this is it for me, Anathema. This is goodbye.

**Anathema** **:** Ok, what did he do?

**Crowley** **:** ghnnnng

**Anathema** **:** Did he gift you a cactus again?

**Crowley** **:** No, it’s way worse. It’s horrible. ;

**Anathema** **:** What then??

**Crowley** **:** I can’t even type it

**Anathema** **:** You’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met

**Crowley** **:** We waltzed!

**Anathema** **:** Nawww

**Crowley** **:** And!

**Crowley** **:** Then!

**Crowley** **:** He looked at my lips!

**Anathema** **:** Ooohh, niceeeeeeeeeeee

**Crowley** **:** NOT NICE

**Crowley** **:** Fuck

**Crowley** **:** I’ve got to lie down

And he did. When he’d gotten home, Crowley had played the events over and over and over again in his mind, trying to find any way to turn it into something platonic on Aziraphale’s end.

He couldn’t.

In fact, it had become very hard to interpret any of the past occurrences as platonic.

So, but, what did that mean, then?

Strangely, he was completely exhausted by it. He would’ve expected that if he ever found out his feelings were returned, he’d be all over the place with excitement. Maybe finally starting to flirt with Aziraphale, too, now he found out Aziraphale had in fact been flirting.

Instead, he was terrified. What if they took this further and it didn’t work out? They had been this for 6000 years. Change, suddenly, was terrifying. What if he fucked up taking this further, and he lost it all together. What if this meant something different for Aziraphale than for him? He’d been so confused and high strung with this strange tension for such a long time in a row lately, that this new discovery felt overwhelming. Maybe he needed to take a step back. Process, think, before he did something too fast, and Aziraphale would back off again.

So he went to bed.

Aziraphale called him when he was just settling in the blankets. ‘Hello dear!’ he said. ‘I was hoping you’d join me for lunch today!’

‘Uh, I- uh, thanks,’ Crowley said, stupidly. ‘Um. I can’t, today.’

‘Why not?’ Aziraphale asked.

‘I, uh, need a nap,’ Crowley said, trying to sound normal.

‘A nap?’ Aziraphale asked. ‘My dear fellow, you aren’t going to sleep for a century again, are you?’

He felt a little bit admonished. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Just a few days, or something. Maybe a week.’

‘Is something the matter?’ Aziraphale asked. He sounded worried.

‘No, don’t worry, angel,’ Crowley said. ‘Ah. Uh. You, um. I just need this, sometimes.’

‘A whole week?’

‘It’s nothing compared to a century,’ Crowley mumbled.

‘No, quite right. Do you- would you like company, during?’

Crowley blinked, baffled. ‘Company? Angel, you know what sleeping is, don’t you?’

‘No, I know. But while you slept I could read some books, keep busy. You just wouldn’t be alone for it.’

That was way too kind, and Crowley felt himself blush. He had no idea what to say- but he knew he did have to take a moment of pause, or things would spiral out of control. He needed to be a bit more stable, if there was gonna be… kissing. Ngn.

‘That’s uh, that’s nice of you,’ Crowley said. ‘But no thanks. I’ll call you, okay?’

‘Alright, then,’ Aziraphale said, softly. ‘Sleep well.’

‘Thanks,’ Crowley said, and hung up.

He lied in bed and stared at the ceiling. Was that stupid? Was he pushing Aziraphale away just when he was reaching out? Was he compromising the entire situation? Perhaps after a week, everything would be back to normal. He’d regret this, then.

He shook his head. The anxiety was driving him nuts, and he could overthink this forever. He needed this, as a moment to calm down. He’d see where they stood when he woke up.

With that, he closed his eyes.

. . .

He woke from the sound of his doorbell. He checked his phone, briefly, and saw that exactly a week had passed.

Aziraphale had run out of patience, it seemed. He smiled, and he did feel better. He felt a bit more like himself, a bit more in control.

Probably, that would all be out of the window when he opened the door.

But that wasn’t going to stop him. In fact, he glanced at his state of undress- he tended to sleep in just boxers and a t-shirt – and decided that he might fluster Aziraphale a little, in return. He went to open the door like that.

Aziraphale blushed, and Crowley felt a thrill of excitement.

‘Ah, good morning,’ Aziraphale said. ‘I’ve come to bring you some breakfast!’

‘You’ve come to bring me breakfast,’ Crowley said, amused. Him, who notoriously didn’t really eat, much. That was definitely a ruse.

‘Yes! May I come in?’

Crowley made a gracious flourish with his hand, and turned around. He then realized, at the same moment that Aziraphale did, that he had never taken out the couch and table that Aziraphale had manifested there after Anathema’s party.

‘You kept them!’ Aziraphale proclaimed.

‘Well, uh, yeah,’ Crowley said, feeling like he lost his cool in record time. ‘Figured you’d make a fuss otherwise.’

There, nice recovery. He was cool, still.

‘Quite right,’ Aziraphale said, and then proceeded to bring the breakfast to the bedroom, because apparently, ‘that’s what humans like.’ It was definitely a ruse. Crowley tried to act exasperated by it, instead of acting on the thrill of excitement he felt. Either way, they ended up in his bed. Crowley noted how pleased Aziraphale was to see the cactus, and he felt a bit proud of that.

Instead of touching the breakfast, Crowley went for the coffee. He looked at Aziraphale, who looked ridiculous, sitting on bed in all those layers of clothes. Before he could stop himself, he had commented on it. ‘That can’t be comfortable.’

‘What, this position?’

‘No, this position in all your -’ Clothes. Ngk, why did he say the things he did. ‘Uh. Layers.’

Aziraphale’s eyes got a downright evil glint to them, and Crowley knew he was in trouble now. And he’d set it up himself completely.

Aziraphale tugged loose his tie, and Crowley’s mouth went dry again. Then he shrugged off his jacket and removed his waistcoat, too. Crowley watched, and suddenly thought, wait, why am I beating myself up for this? This is what I want.

‘There!’ Aziraphale said. ‘Better?’

‘Uh,’ Crowley said. Yes. Much. But still a bit silly. ‘Shoes, too.’

Aziraphale beamed at him, as if he was doing a good job, and Crowley tried not to be pleased about that. Aziraphale took off his shoes, and hopped back on the bed. ‘There. You’re right, that is more comfortable.’

Then he took a croissant and moaned when taking the first bite.

Crowley threw back his coffee as if it were a shot and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. That Angel was gonna kill him someday.

Then he heard Aziraphale scooting closer on the bed, and the thrill of excitement was back.

‘Don’t startle,’ Aziraphale said, soft, and close to him. He felt his sunglasses being tugged off. Crowley opened his eyes, and looked into Aziraphale’s. He knew, this time, what Aziraphale was going to do, so when the Angel looked at his lips again, he bit his lower lip softly. Aziraphale looked up, pleasantly surprised, and Crowley felt overcome with the need to kiss him.

‘Are you quite finished with sleeping for now?’ Aziraphale asked, softly.

‘Yeah, yes,’ Crowley said, looking at Aziraphale’s lips now. _Kiss me_ , he begged in his mind. _Kiss me now._

Aziraphale pushed the breakfast tray aside. Crowley forgot to breathe. _Kiss me_ , he thought, desperately.

‘Good,’ Aziraphale said. ‘Because I missed you.’

_Kiss me_ , Crowley thought.

Aziraphale did. He closed the distance, and he did. Crowley couldn’t help a noise escaping him, and then realized that he’d just slept for a week, and after that had drunk coffee. He’d probably have the grossest mouth ever. He snapped his fingers quickly, and Aziraphale broke off, looking questioning. 

Noooooooooooooooo!

Crowley felt mortified. ‘Brushed my teeth,’ he mumbled.

‘That’s very considerate,’ Aziraphale giggled, and Crowley felt a surge of relief. It wasn’t all over, it was fine.

He smiled. _Kiss me again_ , he thought.

Aziraphale leant in, and Crowley met him halfway this time. His hands found Aziraphale’s shoulders, his hair, and they kissed. It was exhilarating, and Crowley never wanted it to end.

Aziraphale pushed himself closer, on top of Crowley, which was the best thing ever.

‘I’m not squishing you, am I?’ Aziraphale asked, just before kissing his neck, so Crowley wasn’t really to be held responsible for saying: ‘Squish me more,’ and capturing his lips again.

Aziraphale tugged his hair, and Crowley felt his soul leave his body, a bit. They both laughed, and kissed again, and Crowley had never been happier.

. . .

When they’d both calmed down, they lied on the bed wrapped in each other’s arms.

‘I love you,’ Aziraphale said, and- well, there is was. Proof. It was spoken, it was out there. Aziraphale loved him, too. After 6,000 years of pretending to be enemies, or just associates. There it was.

‘Yes?’ he asked, because he was still self-destructive. _Don’t take it back._

‘Yes. I have loved you for a very long time. Only recently, I’ve realized we can do something with it now. We can acknowledge it.’

‘I’ve loved you from the start,’ Crowley said, feeling his eyes burn. Aziraphale loved him, too. It felt unreal, but the proof was in his arms. Aziraphale loved him too.

Aziraphale gave him a soft kiss. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know now.’

And that was enough.

Or.

Well, not really enough. ‘Angel?’

‘Hmm?’

‘How’d you- why- the flirting,’ Crowley said, eloquently. ‘Uh. What was that all about?’

Aziraphale giggled, the bastard. ‘Well, dear, I thought it might be fun.’

‘Fun.’ Crowley laughed, feeling a little bit like he was flying. ‘You almost killed me, angel.’

‘Hmm,’ Aziraphale said, nosing Crowley’s neck and making his brain short-circuit again. ‘You’re dramatic. But I’m glad it was effective.’

Very effective. Crowley smiled, and felt content. When Aziraphale went to get the door for a doorbell that usually never rang, anxious thoughts did not creep up on him. He felt secure, in that Aziraphale would come back to him.

And a little impatient. ‘Angel!’

‘Coming!’ Aziraphale called out, and he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Hopefully you liked Crowley's POV, too!


End file.
